


A Flash of the Silver Moon

by TheRoadtoHell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy Has Anxiety, Draco Malfoy Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, F/M, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, Narcissa Malfoy is a Great Mum, Pureblood Politics, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-01-31 10:51:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoadtoHell/pseuds/TheRoadtoHell
Summary: Hermione Granger loves Hogwarts. This is her home, the place where she truly belongs, and she will do anything to stay. Anything. Even if it means lying to her best friends.Draco Malfoy lost the one thing he thought he couldn't live without. Now, he's barely holding on to himself, his sanity, and his life as he tries to find his reason for living.Harry Potter is oblivious.





	1. Year 1 - Draco

 

 Chapter One - Year 1 - Draco

 

*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

 

_He pushes himself as hard as he can, agonizing over the screams that are growing steadily louder and more frantic until he can make out his name interspersed with cries for their parents. Another scream sounds, loud enough to send a spike of pain through his head, and he finally spots a flash of the silver moon on her white-blond hair far ahead of him. With one final burst of speed, he sprints for his twin._

 

*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

 

**1 September 1991**

 

Draco jerks awake, breathing hard. Fairly used to these nightmares, he calms down quickly but is still unable to sleep so, after going to the loo, he takes his favourite book from his shelf, settles himself on his bed, and reads.

 

By the time his mother sends a house elf to collect him for breakfast, Draco had read through all of his favourites from _Grimm’s Faery Tales_ and had gotten showered, groomed, and dressed on his own.

 

He slips into his seat across from his mother and nods a greeting to both her and his father, at the head of the table.

 

“You slept well, I trust?” His mother inquires. Draco nods and returns the question. He includes his father in the pleasantries as they eat their breakfast (lighter than he’s had in a while to prepare for the eight-hour train ride ahead).

 

Once the small talk is out of the way, Draco asks the question that he’s been trying to suppress since he’d received his Hogwarts letter three months earlier. “Will she be there?”

 

Lucius Malfoy frowns and shoots a look at his wife before answering the boy. “Her kind is not allowed near school children, Draco, you know this.”

 

“But I want to see her!” He whines. “You—”

 

“Draco! A Malfoy does not whine.” Lucius snaps at him, closing the discussion. “Finish your breakfast and meet me in my study. We have things to discuss.” With that, Draco’s father stands, nods at Narcissa, and swiftly exits. Draco looks expectantly at his mother.

 

“...He’s right, Darling.” She tells him sadly. “She’s dangerous.” Draco struggles to contain his disappointment and Narcissa sighs, leaning forward and taking his hand. “She might be there. I do not know Hogwarts’ policy on werewolves so there is a chance that she will have been admitted but Draco, my darling boy, she will not know you. If you do see her, you can’t tell her anything.”

 

“But—”

 

“She’ll have been raised as a muggle. You can’t be seen associating with people like that and, since no one will know that she’s a Malfoy, you can’t be seen making friends with her.”

 

“I miss her.”

 

“I know.”

 

Draco looks down. After a moment he draws himself back up, face the picture of Malfoy arrogance, stands, nods at Narcissa, and swiftly exits.

 

*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

 

The Malfoy patriarch is sitting behind his desk when Draco is bid entrance. The boy closes the door behind him and stands just inside for nearly a minute (fifty-three seconds, he counted) before his father finally gestures to the chair in front of the desk. Draco sits, keeping his face impassive. A Malfoy, after all, never portrays nerves or fear.

 

“As you know,” Lucius begins, “Harry Potter will be entering Hogwarts this year as well. You need to put yourself in his favour. The boy defeated The Dark Lord and, with proper guidance, may well take his place. When that happens, you must be his closest confidante. Albus Dumbledore will do his best to curry the boy’s favour so you must do the same, do you understand me?”

 

“Yes, Father.” Draco had received this lecture several times. He’d been hearing it since before he knew he’d be going to Hogwarts in the first place. The past few years had seen Draco called into his father’s study no less than twenty-seven times for this speech alone. By now, the eleven year old knows the number of words. He’s memorized the syllables and how they flow together. His numbers book has half a page dedicated to this specific spiel.

 

Draco can tell that his father is please by his lack of questions. He lets Draco go and the boy goes back to his room.

 

Standing in the middle, he turns in a slow circle as he always does upon entering. His room felt wrong. Thirteen pictures in frames. Yesterday, there had been fifteen, a good number. Thirteen bothered him but not as much as fourteen. He’d only wanted to bring one picture (Draco presenting his mother with a flower picked from her favourite rose bush) but fourteen was a bad number so he’s taking the one picture that he has of his father smiling. It was taken on the day Draco was born. His mother said that she had taken it when Lucius had thought she was sleeping. His father was holding him and smiling down at him. As one watches the picture, Lucius’ right hand reaches up to smooth back the delicate, white-blonde hair that Draco still bore. He doesn’t like his father but likes the picture and he doesn’t hate the number thirteen so he chooses that picture to bring with him.

 

Another careful turn reveals that his favourite books had all been packed save one. His copy of _Grimm's Faery Tales_ in the original German (Malfoys read only the best) was battered and worn with age and overuse. He’d read it so many times that he had it completely memorized. He wouldn’t bring it to school though, too risky. He knew exactly who his roommates would be and he didn’t trust his most prized possession to the imbeciles that are the Goyle and Crabbe heirs. He was going to miss it.

 

A third and final turn shows that nothing else is out of its place that oughtn't have been. He picks up his number book and a self-inking quill and turns to his room page, making the proper corrections.

 

_Bedroom_

_3 windows_

_4 doors_

_2 wardrobes_

_2 settes_

~~_72 books_~~ _64 books_

 ~~ _15 photographs_~~ _13 photographs_

 

The list continues, filling the page with an exact list of numbers in a neat column. When his house elf finally comes to collect him, Draco tucks his book in the inside pocket of his school robe (he’d dressed in it after breakfast so he could take his time to make it perfect. A Malfoy always looks perfect) and follows the elf down the stairs.

 

*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

 

At the station, Draco says farewell to his father first with a calm handshake. His mother, to Lucius’ dismay, kneels and pulls him into a tight hug. Draco is startled. He hugs her back as hard as he can, closing his eyes for one desperate moment before pulling back.

“I love you, my darling boy, do not forget that.”

 

“I won’t, Mother, you have my word.” He responds carefully, aware of his father standing a mere fifty-six centimeters away.

 

“You have your book? And your quill?”

 

“Yes, Mother.”

 

“And you know what to do if—”

 

“Narcissa.” Lucius cuts in. “The boy is going to Hogwarts, not America. He will be fine.”

 

“Yes, yes, of course.” The woman stands and regains her composure. She holds a hand out to her son and Draco takes it and dips into a perfect bow to press a kiss to the pale appendage.

 

Draco walks calmly onto the train, forcing himself not to look back. He counts. Forty-three steps from his mother to the train, three stairs up, sixty-two steps to a compartment in the middle of the carriage that faces away from the platform.

 

Draco sits and writes his new numbers down.

 

*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

 

Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Greg Goyle, and Vincent Crabbe sit with Draco. Four people. He represses the urge to write it down and answers anything directed at him but stays otherwise silent, staring out the window. Theo Nott will drift in and out, floating between them and a group of second year Ravenclaws. Draco thinks to himself that Theo would be rather well suited to Ravenclaw. He’d probably like it better than Slytherin. Draco would too, he was certainly single-minded enough, but they both needed to be in Slytherin. The hat should put him there automatically but if not, Draco would ask it to. He stands abruptly, that line of thought reminding him of his father’s words.

 

“Crabbe, Goyle, follow me.” He left, knowing that the boys had been given orders by their own fathers that they were to serve Draco. It takes him eleven minutes and thirty-two seconds to find the carriage that Potter is in and slides the compartment door open.

 

“Is it true?” He asks, pretending he hadn’t been specifically told to search out Potter. “They’re saying all down the train that Harry Potter’s in this compartment. So it’s you, is it?”

 

“Yes.” The black haired boy is small and wearing muggle clothing. Draco resists the automatic sneer. The Potter family had plenty of gold (not as much as Draco’s family, of course) so he could certainly afford better clothing. Oh well. Not everyone could be as well-bred as he, himself, was. Potter is staring at Draco’s friends ( _associates, Draco, Malfoy’s do not have friends and you had best remember that_ ) so Draco introduces them but makes sure to indicate their lack of importance.

 

“Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle,” he gestures to each in turn with his left hand. “And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.” The ginger in the corner coughs a laugh (how uncouth) and Draco turns to him. “Think my name’s funny do you?” He lifts a brow impassively. “No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford.” He looks back at Potter. “You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” Draco holds out his right hand, conceding to Potter’s reputation even if his own status is technically higher. Potter rebuffs him despite, or perhaps in spite of, the gesture.

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he says coolly. Draco feels the smallest of angry blushes rise in his cheeks before he could control it. His father’s voice rings in his ears. _You must do the same, do you understand me?_ Nine words, eleven syllables, thirty three letters. Do you understand me do you understand me do you understand me do you—

Draco silently sucks in a breath and responds slowly. “I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” _You must do the same, do you understand me?_ “Unless you’re a bit more polite you’ll go the same way as your parents. They didn’t know what was good for them either. You hang around riff-raff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid and it’ll rub off on you.”

 

Potter and his pet weasel both stand, Weasley turning an ugly shade of red that clashes horribly with that disgusting hair. He has dirt on his nose, Draco notices. Their lack of decorum astounds Draco but he pushes the thought away and focuses on the ruckus he’d caused.

 

“Say that again.” The disgusting boy growls at him.

 

“Oh, you’re going to fight us, are you?” Draco can’t help but taunt.

 

“Unless you get out now.” The boy’s nervousness is displayed clearly on his face and Draco loses any respect he may have had for the “reputable” ginger.

 

“But we don’t feel like leaving, do we boys? We’ve eaten all our food and you still seem to have some.” Without leave from Draco, Goyle reaches for a chocolate frog. The Weasel lunges for him but Goyle jerks back with an undignified screech. A tattered, unkempt rat hangs from his knuckle. Draco and Crabbe step back as Goyle starts flinging the creature around in an effort to dislodge it. It finally lets go, thudding against the window and both Crabbe and Goyle run immediately.

Draco hesitates ( _doyouunderstandmedoyouunderstandmedoyouunderstandme_ ) before finally backing out of the compartment. Before he can get very far, a small girl bursts past him.

 

“What _has_ been going on here?”

 

Draco’s blood freezes in his veins. He knows that voice. He’s known that voice his entire life. He hasn’t heard it in four years, and it doesn’t come from the body it used to but he recognizes it nonetheless. He’d know it anywhere. He turns and darts away, unable to handle it. His mother’s voice is the one in his head now as he makes his way back to his compartment as quickly as he dares (A Malfoy does not hurry). _She will not know you._ And she hadn’t. There had been no recognition in her gaze when those unfamiliar brown eyes had briefly connected with his but he’d know her anywhere. He’d felt it in the core of his being. Of course he had, why wouldn’t he? Draco could never forget his sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Most author's notes should not be this long, I just need to address a few things.
> 
> **Some scenes contain direct quotes from both the movie and the book. Both versions of canon are used at various points but default canon is, and always will be, the book's version.
> 
> ***Some minor things, such as when Draco and Hermione encounter each other, will be changed but, on the whole, this story will be mostly canon compliant through 6th year. Third year is when it starts to deviate but I won't technically be /changing/ much. Most interaction and scenes that I add will be during times and in places that were not featured in the books. 
> 
> ****Relationships, on the whole, will be slow to start. As much as I would love to rush into them, these kids are all 11 or 12 so it wouldn't be realistic. That being said, romantic relationships will most likely be more background than anything. I'm still playing with some ideas but, as of yet, I do have a definite pairing in mind for Hermione (not Ron Weasley, I hate him). Draco will also be with someone but I'm not sure who yet. I know who I'm leaning towards but if any of you have a suggestion, feel free to tell me. I have an outline but the identity of Draco's love interest does not play a large part in it until the later chapters. That being said, Draco and Hermione WILL NOT be in ANY sort or romantic situation with each other. At all. I love Dramione but there is a time and a place and this is neither. 
> 
> *****I plan to post on the first (1st) and the fifteenth (15th) of every month. I am, however, a full-time University student so it may slip my mind. If that happens and you, for whatever reason, are desperate for a chapter, let me know and I'll do my best to get a chapter posted ASAP.
> 
> ******I own nothing. I mean, Dianna is sort of mine but you guys can borrow her if you really want to.


	2. Year 1 - Hermione

Chapter Two - Year 1 - Hermione

Hermione Granger frantically darts around her room, checking and rechecking that she’d collected everything. She’s going to Hogwarts to learn how to be a witch and she needs to make sure that she’s prepared for absolutely everything. Noticing that her favourite novel has disappeared and seeing nothing else to be done in her own room, she goes across that hall to her sister’s. Dianna is everything that Hermione isn’t. The nine year old plays football in her school’s league, has loads of friends, and always takes a painstaking amount of time on her appearance. She doesn’t, however, have grades anywhere near as good as Hermione’s are and has little to no ambition. Thus, she and Hermione get along well. Hermione is glad of this when she enters Dianna’s room in a flurry of nervous energy, accidentally (but slightly on purpose) waking her little sister.

“Calm down ‘Mione, you’ll be fine,” the girl grumbles at her, “lemme sleep.”

“How can you sleep at a time like this?” Hermione all but jumps on her sister. “What if I forget something? You can’t post it to me, we haven’t got an owl. Besides, we don’t even know if an owl will respond to you, do we? And what if—” She grunts as she is unceremoniously dumped to the floor. She glares but it has no effect on the giggling girl. “Well, if you’re awake enough to be playing tricks, you’re awake enough to help me find my book.” Dianna groans but finally gets up.

“Fine, which are we looking for?”

“ _Grimm’s._ ”

“Oh, that’s over here.” She moves towards her bookshelf and Hermione follows eagerly. Dianna pulls Hermione’s favourite book from her small shelf and hands it to the older girl. Hermione beams and grabs the book, then pulls her sister into a short, tight hug before releasing her with a quick thanks and a ‘ _breakfast in 10’_ tossed over her shoulder.

*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

Dianna refuses to let go of Hermione at the station.

“Please don’t leave me!” Hermione hugs her sister even closer and kisses the side of the younger girl’s tightly braided hair. Hermione had spent nearly forty-five minutes perfecting that corset braid and she’ll be damned if she messes it up.

“I’ll write every week, I promise.”

“Swear it?” Dianna sniffles and Hermione pulls back and swipes her thumbs under Anna’s eyes.

“I promise. I won’t abandon you, Anna.” She pauses and takes Anna’s face firmly in her hands, a smirk playing at her lips. “I know I’m the smart one but surely even _you_ know that.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I love you, but I have to go or I’ll be late.” Hermione hugs her again, quickly hugs her parents, then finally gets on the train. She picks her way through the throngs of older students greeting (or looking for) their friends. After nearly ten minutes of searching, Hermione finds an empty compartment but nearly as soon as she sits down, a sniveling boy slides the door open.

“Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all? I’ve lost him.” She shakes her head. The boy turns to leave but Hermione shoots up and smooths both of her hands down her robes. He startles and all but flinches back.

“Want help looking for him? He can’t have gotten far, right? I’m Hermione, by the way, Hermione Granger.”

“Neville,” he responds. “Neville Longbottom. And I’d love the help. Well, if you don’t mind.” Hermione rolls her eyes.

“If I minded I wouldn’t have offered, now would I.” The boy 一Neville一 blushes crimson but says nothing as Hermione leaves the compartment with him. They ask at every compartment in their carriage and, when that yields nothing, they move on to the next one up. She and Neville check every compartment, both for Neville’s toad and for more information about Hogwarts. By now, Hermione’s gone into autopilot as she opens the next door.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one.” The ginger one responds but Hermione wasn’t listening. She was too focused on the old, beat-up wand in his hand. “Oh, you’re doing magic? Let’s see it, then.” She sits down. The boy looks taken aback but clears his throat nonetheless and lifts his wand.

“ _Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,_

 _Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow_.”

Nothing happens and Hermione wrinkles her nose. “Are you sure that’s a spell?” she questions, a skeptical eye on the grey rat in his lap. “Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all. Well, my little sister may be because she’s only nine so I suppose we’ll find out but anyway, it was such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard 一I’ve learnt all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough一 I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”

“I’m Ron Weasley.” The ginger boy mutters after a pause and a side look at the black-haired boy. Hermione notices the dirt on his nose but decides to not embarrass him in front of his obviously-new friend.

“Harry Potter,” he says.

“Are you really? I know all about you, of course一 I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_.”

“Am I?” He asks. Hermione is shocked. Surely he knows that one as famous as him would have to be in at least a few history books.

“Goodness, didn’t you know? I’d have found out everything I could if it was me. Do either of you know what house you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best, I hear Dumbledore himself was one, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad.” Hermione glances at Neville and notices that he looks distinctly uncomfortable. “Anyway,” she continues, “we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon.”

They leave the compartment and Hermione convinces Neville to split up so they can cover more ground. She walks to the front quickly to see how much longer they have to search and has gotten halfway through the rest of the compartments  on the way back when she hears commotion in the corridor. Curious, she makes her way to the source, which happens to be Ron Weasley and Harry Potter’s compartment. She hears shouts and quickens her pace, bursting past a pale, blonde boy.

“What _has_ been going on here?” She demands. The blonde’s eyes widen and he looks terrified for a split second. Hermione frowns when he turns and darts away but pays him no more mind than that.

“I think he’s been knocked out,” Ron says as he picks up the rodent by the tail. He looks closer. “No  一I don’t believe it一 he’s gone back to sleep.” And so he had.

Hermione ignores him and looks at Harry, who seems to be the kinder of the two. “You’ve met that boy before?”

“He was in the robe shop with me when I went to Diagon Alley to get my supplies.” Harry responds, telling them both about the encounter. Ron scoffs.

“I’ve heard of his family,” he says. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappears. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.” He looks at Hermione as though just remembering her presence. “Can we help you with something?”

Hermione purses her lips and coldly says, “You’d better hurry up and put your robes on, I’ve just been up to the front to ask the driver and he says that we’re nearly there. You haven’t been fighting, have you? You’ll be in trouble before we even get there!”

“Scabbers has been fighting, not us. Would you mind leaving while we change?”

Hermione huffs indignantly. “All right一 I only came in here because I heard a commotion. And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?”

*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

_2 September 1991_

_Dear Anna,_

_My first week here at Hogwarts has been absolutely astounding. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen! I mean, I know we both read_ Hogwarts: A History _but it’s even more fantastic in person. The castle is all but alive; I can feel it and it’s beautiful. I found some books in the library (which is enormous, by the way) about my situation and it’s implied that those of my affliction are especially attuned to magic for some reason. I still haven’t found out why but as soon as I know, I’ll owl you. Isn’t that a funny phrase? ‘I’ll owl you.’_

_You were right, I was placed in Gryffindor. And you’ll never guess who was placed in my house. Harry Potter! And, even more curious, he clearly had no idea magic existed until he got his letter, though I’ve no idea how he wouldn’t know. He’s fairly nice though. His friend, Ronald Weasley, I believe, isn’t nice at all but I’ll assume that he just doesn’t know when he’s being rude. It certainly seems that way._

_Oh, speaking of rude, there’s this boy, Draco Malfoy, who is absolutely deplorable. He constantly picks on me and torments me about my blood status and my hair. The hair I don’t mind so much but did you know that in the Wizarding World, some people categorize others on their magical blood status? I’m considered a muggleborn because our parents are both muggles but I have magic, there are also purebloods, who have two pure-blooded parents who both have magic, and finally there are half bloods who are, to my understanding, anyone who has any other combination of parents. That doesn’t seem right to me so I’m going to research that a bit more when I have the time —don’t let me forget to send you what I find._

_Anyway, despite Draco Malfoy and his blood-purity nonsense, I love it here. It’s beautiful and amazing and… Well, magical. I wish you could see it but I don’t think non-magical people can see the castle. I’ll research that as well._

_Now, tell me about your school, I know you started the yesterday as well. How are your teachers? I know you were worried about your advanced maths class; are the older kids being nice to you? If they’re not just send me their names and I’ll beat them up for you when I get home!_

_With All My Heart,_

_Your Mia_

*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

Enraptured, Hermione stares at the dour Potions’ master, hanging on his every word.

“...bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death— if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.” The professor sneers at Harry Potter. “Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confidant enough to not… pay… attention.”

Hermione nudges him in the ribs without looking away.

“Mr. Potter.” Professor Snape says, derision practically dripping from his lips. “Our new... celebrity. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” Hermione immediately shoots her hand up. “You don't know? Well, let's try again. Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?” Hermione begins to strain upwards, hand shaking in an effort to keep still.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?” Hermione, nearly bouncing in her seat, silently agrees with the professor. She had, of course, read all of her books already and nearly memorized most of them. “What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Hermione jumps from her seat, raising her hand as high as it would go, despite the laughter she hears around her. She’s used to the others laughing. What she isn’t used to is a teacher so blatantly ignoring her during the first class. But she’ll change that. If Professor Snape doesn’t believe Hermione is good enough, she’ll show him. She’ll _make_ him believe. Hermione Jean Granger is a real witch and she will damn well prove it, if it’s the last thing she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I intended to finish out first year with Hermione but it felt right to end the chapter where I did.
> 
> **Next chapter should be out on 1 December 2017.


	3. Summer and Year 2 - Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ: Yes, I know, this is a repost of chapter 3. I've moved events around a bit and, as such, needed to add two extra scenes to this chapter. Please reread this; they're both crucial to the plot.

Chapter Three - Summer and Year 2 - Draco

Calmly surveying the forest, Draco steps just beyond the boundary line of the garden behind the manor. His gaze sweeps through the trees until he pinpoints the spot where he and his sister had entered the forest all those years ago. It isn’t like he could ever forget it, or her, anyway. The eleven year old checks over his shoulder but his mother is still sitting and pretending to enjoy the company of Lady Parkinson. He steps into the trees.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this but this is the first time without his mother. In the two weeks since school had been out, Draco had been searching the forest for the spot where his sister had been attacked. He’s never explained why he needs to do this to his mother —he wasn’t even sure he knows why himself— but she indulges him as best she can. Today is the day before his twelfth birthday and he couldn’t be less excited if he tried. Tomorrow would the coming-of-age gala that every Malfoy has when they turn twelve and, the day after that, he would be stuck with his father, learning how to manage the Malfoy’s estates and businesses that he would be taking over when he turned twenty five. At seventeen, he’d work at his father’s side so he’d understand every part of the business when the time came. As such, Draco is taking what little free time he has left to search for the thing who ruined his and his twin’s lives.

“Draco, darling,” his mother calls from the gardens, “where are you going?”

He thinks quickly. His mother is closer to him than he is to the tree line by nearly 120cm but he’s certain that he’s faster. Besides, with Lady Parkinson here, Narcissa wouldn’t dare run into the trees. She’d most likely summon a house elf to fetch Lucius so he’d go after Draco. That would buy him a decent head start.

“Exploring, Mother!” Draco darts off but he still hears his mother call for a house elf. Draco runs through the trees, a smile spreading across his lips. He and Mia used to have so much fun chasing each other through this wood.

Draco’s shoulder slams against a tree and he mutters a curse he’d heard from an older Gryffindor at school. He—

_He chases her into the wood, sprinting as she darts through the trees. She hits her shoulder on one and curses but doesn’t pause. He laughs and runs faster to take advantage of her momentary lapse. Hair luminescent in the moon, he has no trouble following in her wake except—_

Draco stumbles and falls to his knees, skinning his palms on the twigs and rocks covering the ground. He stops for a moment, panting, counting each breath to slow his heart. He raises his head. Seeing a break in the trees up ahead, he pushes himself to his feet and stumbles forward. He pushes through to see—

_A clearing? The boy frowns and turns in a slow circle. Not only is there no sign of his sister, there’s also no sign of any sort of landmark. That wasn’t possible. He knew every tree in this forest—_

Draco shakes his head to clear it, memories of that night flashing through his head, distracting him and disrupting his counting. The leaves rustle behind him—

_He freezes and tilts his head, listening as hard as he possibly can._

_There it is again. The faintest of sounds. A scream from far away._

_He’s off. Crashing through the trees, tripping and falling over rocks and roots alike as he follows the sounds of his sister screaming. Though he’d never heard her make that sound, he’d know her voice anywhere._

A hand clamps down on Draco’s shoulder and a scream rips from his throat.

“DRACO!”

He jerks out of the grip, twisting hard on his heel and falling on his arse. Lucius stands before him looking mildly confused and worried. The fact that he’s showing even that much emotion astounds Draco. He tries to ground himself but panic is still pumping memories and numbers through his head at an alarming pace and he can’t breathe and the figure of his father blurs in from of him and black spots dance at the edge of his vision and-

“Draco, breathe.”

He sucks in a breath, blinking tears from his eyes. Lunging forward, Draco wraps his arms around his father, sobbing into his robes. After a moment, Lucius stands, bringing his son with him. Draco buries his face in Lucius’ shoulder as his father turns on his heel, apparating them to Draco’s bedroom, bypassing the wards as master of the estate.

*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

When Draco comes to, it’s to a delicate hand smoothing his hair back from his forehead. A small smile touches his lips as he blinks his eyes open, recognizing the feel of his mother’s hand.

“Mum…” he mumbles, trying to look at her. His head flops to the side and he frowns. Why does he feel so weak? He doesn’t remember being injured in any way. In fact, he doesn’t remember anyth— except… A memory of his father’s arms around him for the first time in years rises in his mind. His frown deepens and he looks up.

“You had a panic attack.” His mother murmurs gently. The sound of her voice comforts him and he relaxes, managing to nod slightly. “Take this Darling, it will make you feel better.”

Draco opens his lips immediately, not even thinking to ask his mother what it is. She tips the potion into his mouth and he grimaces but swallows nonetheless. Draco wrinkles his nose as smoke pours out of his ears but the Pepper-Up potion has energy instantly flooding through him. He struggles upright, asking his mother what had happened.

“You had a panic attack.” She repeats. “Your father brought you here and you passed out. I had an elf get the potion from Severus while your father went to take care of something.” A pause and then, “What happened, Darling? Your father just said that you lost your head and started crying and screaming. You were hysterical when he called for me. What happened out there? Why didn’t you wait for me?”

A blush lights Draco’s cheeks and he shakes his head. “Where did Father go?”

“He didn’t say,” she sighs. She waits patiently, just watching Draco. He knows what she wants but he can’t tell her. He’d never been able to tell her what he’d seen the night that his sister had been attacked. At first, it had been too raw in his mind; too painful. Now, with Hermione gone, unreachable, it doesn’t seem to matter. There wasn’t anything to go off of. He hadn’t even clearly seen the beast who’d assaulted her. There was nothing anyone could do so Draco could see no reason to relive the experience. He opens his mouth to say as much to his mother but is interrupted by a quick rap on the frame of his bedroom’s open door.

“Draco, the tailor is here for your fitting, go to the drawing room.” Draco’s father stands impassively in the doorway, staring at his son.

“Lucius—”

“Quiet Narcissa. You coddle the boy. He already missed the fitting yesterday. I will not have my son dressed like a street urchin at his own gala! Downstairs, Draco. Now!” Draco scrambles from his bed, stumbling as he stands. A wave of dizziness floods through his head and he automatically grips his forehead with his right hand, his left searching for purchase on the wall beside him. After forty-seven seconds, he stands upright. He ignores his mother’s hand on his shoulder and strides the eight steps across his room to his father, still standing in the doorway.

Draco pauses, opens his mouth, then closes it and looks down. A blush warms his cheeks as he remembers how he’d clung to the man and sobbed like a toddler. Malfoys do not show weakness. Those five words make up the first Malfoy rule his father had ever told him. He’d been four and screaming because he hadn’t wanted to go with his father to work. He’d just wanted his mother and had cried and cried when he had been carried from the room, his Mia trailing curiously after them.

Never cry Draco. Lucius had said to him. Malfoys do not show weakness. Look at your sister, do you see how well she’s behaving? And how scared she is? You’re supposed to protect her. How can you protect your family when you’re weak? Draco had turned in his father’s arms and looked to see his twin wide eyed and terrified. He’d turned back and nodded, still sniffling but determined to protect his Mia. Later, Hermione had crawled into his bed and asked if he was okay.

That day comes back to him in a flash of images as he stares up at the man who’d taken her away. Draco marches past him to the drawing room without saying a word.

*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

Draco shuts the heavy wooden door to his room and leans back against it with a sigh. With eyes closed and head tipped back, he slowly relaxes his muscles. It’s his birthday and only just before midnight but he’s exhausted. After a night filled with posturing and polite small talk, all Draco wants to do is collapse into bed and sleep but he knows that his dreams will be filled with his sister and forests and bone-deep terror and he simply can’t handle it. Not tonight. Not after the fourth birthday since he’d lost his Mia and the first since he’d found her again.

The past school year had been spent watching (stalking) Hermione Granger. He’d watched her in the Great Hall, in the courtyard, on the grounds with that oaf Hagrid. He’d watched her so easily make friends —not acquaintances, friends— and effortlessly destroy him and everyone else in their classes. Not that he was surprised, of course, his sister was brilliant. He’d watched as she went on her little dragon adventure with Boy Wonder and the Weasel and, before that, he’d seen Weasley bully her. Draco’d had to force himself not to curse the idiot but he’d managed somehow. Draco had even watched her housemates to make sure none of them discovered her secret but, unsurprisingly, they hadn’t. She was too good for that.

He lifts his head up off the door and shuffles to the center of the room, turning thrice and counting. No numbers have changed so he just moves to his bed and collapses on it. He doesn’t even have time to undress before sleep claims him, plunging him into a hell of his own making.

*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

“Be careful now, Dear, you don’t want to get sick in the floo.”

“Yes, Mother.” Draco responds dutifully, even as he half tunes her out, hoping he continues to look pathetic enough for her to send him home from this ridiculous tea party. His mother purses her lips but nods and steps back, allowing Draco to grab a handful of powder and throw it into the flames.

He’s on his way to his room when he notices something interesting: the door to his father’s study is ajar. Struck with curiosity, he immediately silences his steps, though his pace remains the same.

“—Potter boy.” Draco hears his father say quietly but urgently. That stopped him in his tracks. “I intend to... He can use the diary to open the Chamber, I’m sure of it.” a pause, seven seconds during which Draco did not so much as breathe, and then— “Yes, I’ll find a way. Are you sure the students will be safe?” Draco strains to hear a reply; his father must be speaking to someone after all; but all he hears is the roaring of a fire. A floo call, then. His father bids farewell to whomever he’s speaking to and Draco silently turns from the door. His eyes widen and he quickly suppresses a gasp as he stares into the overly-large eyes of the house elf who’d helped raise him and Mia. Dobby presses a finger to his lips and reaches his other hand out to Draco, who takes it immediately. He knows he can trust Dobby.

Finding himself suddenly in his bedroom, he turns to question the elf but he was gone. He sighs but doesn’t press the issue: the elf had probably been ordered not to tell Draco anything and he didn’t want to see the damn thing punish itself. It had always made his sister cry and he’d hated that.

*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

After a week of searching the library for any sort of diary or the mention of a chamber, Draco comes up empty. As such, he’s noticeably subdued, to his mother’s dismay. She’s trying to cheer him up as he wanders through Flourish and Blotts, avoiding the crowd drawn in by some dodgy chav in the center of the shop. Draco ignores his mother, flipping through random books that look vaguely interesting until —finally— she grows bored and leaves him to go look through a different section. Then, he searches in earnest.

It takes him almost an hour, but eventually, Draco finds what he’s looking for. A commotion makes him look up and he finally notices the chaos around him. He fishes a self-inking quill out of his pocket and scribbles a single word at the top of the page, glancing around him before tearing it out and sliding the book back on the shelf. With a smirk, he shoves the page and quill back into his pocket. Draco finds his way back to his mother, who’d been joined by her husband, just in time for a little Weasley baiting.

*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

“Mother, I’ll be fine, stop fussing.” Draco insists imperiously as he stands on Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

“Draco,” his mother reprimands. Draco counts to ten as he forcibly holds back an eye roll.

“I’m twelve, Mother, not two. I’ll be fine.”

“He’s right, leave the boy alone.” Lucius cuts in, saving Draco from his mother’s hovering. Draco nods his thanks and says goodbye to his father before turning on his heel and stalking away. Forty-three steps from his mother to the train, three stairs up, sixty-two steps to the same compartment he’d occupied last year. Blaise and Pansy soon join him, Crabbe and Goyle next, then Daphne, and finally Theo, who enters just as the train starts to move, reluctantly slinking into the seat between Pansy and the wall. As they start to pull away from the station, he catches a glimpse of a very familiar figure on the platform. His eyes narrow on the small house elf but he does nothing more as Dobby nods once and disappears.

Throughout the train ride, Draco does his best to pay attention, he really does, but his housemates are just so, utterly, dull. He honestly could not care any less about Blaise’s mother’s new husband or Daphne’s new potions book or even Pansy’s ramblings about the new defense professor. Don’t they realize that none of it matters? He’ll be gone by the end of the year anyway. Daphne would pass potions no matter what. Madame Zabini would kill off her new husband within six months. Draco desperately counts the hours until the train gets to Hogwarts but it’s not enough. He’s drowning in his own head and none of them can bloody see it!

Draco stands abruptly. Crabbe and Goyle, used to this by now, both stand immediately and follow him as he leaves to search the train for his sister. Finding her after only four minutes and forty-eight seconds of searching, Draco slides open the door to her compartment. He sees Longbottom, the Weasley twins, and a little ginger girl (who he recognizes as the youngest Weasley) surrounding Hermione, who has her nose in a book as usual. He doesn’t, however, see Potter or his personal pet ginger.

“What, no Potty or Weaslby, Granger?”

“Go away Malfoy,” she responds without looking up. Longbottom and the Weaslette both look up but the twins are hunched over a book and clearly unaware of their surroundings.

“Oh? And who’s going to make me? Longbottom? The idiot’s so inept he’d sooner curse himself.” Weaslette jumps up and opens her mouth to respond but a voice behind Draco stops her.

“What’s going on here?” Great. Four out of five of the Weasleys at Hogwarts. Draco loses his battle with himself and violently rolls his eyes before he can stop himself.

“Nothing Weasley.” He pushes past the sixth-year prefect, ignoring his shout of protest, and heads back to his carriage. This will be a long train ride.

*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*

“Weasley, Ginevra!” The hat rests on her head for eleven seconds before screaming “GRYFFINDOR” and falling silent. She’s the last of the firsties to be sorted and Draco all but sags with relief. Potter and Weasley are missing from the feast and it’s all anyone can talk about. Draco doesn’t know how but everyone keeps claiming that they’d been expelled for flying a “car” into the Whomping Willow. He has no idea what a car is but, as none of his housemates seemed to either, he doesn’t bother asking. Draco certainly hopes that they weren’t expelled though because, as much as he hates them, they help to keep Hermione safe and happy. He’ll keep an eye on them though, when they inevitably return. Dumbledore surely won’t kick out his precious little golden boy, after all.

A nudge to his ribs gets his attention and he glares at Theo. The boy in question simply lifts his chin slightly. Draco looks over his shoulder to see the prefects gathering the first years. They’d be leaving directly afterwards and it wouldn’t do for Draco to be startled when they all stand. Draco nods his thanks and Theo’s lips quirk up on one side. A glance over to the Gryffindor table shows Hermione anxiously bouncing in her seat as she waits for the firsties to clear. As soon as they’re out of the Great Hall, she bolts from her seat, most likely taking an alternate path to Gryffindor tower using one of the forty-two moving staircases. Draco considers following her but just then, the Slytherins start rising en masse. He sighs and stands, prepared to face his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Notes:  
> *The first two chapters have been edited for typos and, in the case of chapter two, content. If you care to, please go back and reread both of those. There is also a semi-important author's note regarding the posting schedule and future trajectory of this story at the end of the first chapter.
> 
> **Chapters are edited and re-updated frequently so if you catch a mistake, feel free to let me know and I’ll fix it as soon as I can.
> 
> ***The bookstore scene is based on movie-canon, not book-canon. This is one of the (very few) times that will happen, seeing as I generally dislike the movies. If you rewatch the beginning of CoS, though, you’ll see what I mean.


End file.
